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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258313">Eve Undercover</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonousWells/pseuds/PoisonousWells'>PoisonousWells</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brat/Caretaker, Cop/Mafia, Eve is so done, Eventual mild violence, F/F, Officer/Mafia Princess, Or the mafia, Pretend we know how the police work, Public Nudity, Slow Burn, Undercover, Undercover Missions, an emotional slow burn, kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:15:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonousWells/pseuds/PoisonousWells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the ferocious battle between law and lawless, the ice queen known as Eve Magara is thrown into the mix. </p><p>Stuck between the orders of the mayor and the expectations of the mafia boss, not to mention the constant temptation of Noir Salvador, the young officer must decide where her honesty ends and her deception begins.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Accepting a Mission</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Electronic beats punctuate the air with throbs and trembles. Cerulean, violet, magenta lights strobe, bouncing off the reflective surfaces until they collide and mix and become one unintelligible mosh. The light swirls with the heavy scent of smoke and sweat and alcohol, pressing in on the gyrating forms on the dance floor. Scuffed checkerboard linoleum bears the weight of rapid hopping, desperate movements, countless bodies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bar is lined with shelves, topped with colorful bottles of neon liquid, illuminated by hidden lights embedded in the glass shelves beneath. A mirror is pressed behind the shelves, the gaps large enough to where someone standing before them can see their surroundings, if they don't mind the odd flash of light from the strobes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Glaring into that mirror is a pair of crimson eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those eyes are attached to a cold, inexpressive visage. Long platinum hair frames her cheeks, falling on each side of her face and trailing down her back. The gauzy white dress does little to hide her form, slits in the sides and up the legs and barely holding her chest in place, making her look like a goddess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Believe it or not, her goal is to be as anonymous as possible, at least until she makes her move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In her left hand, she holds a glass of green liquid, ice cubes tinkling cheerfully as they bump into one another. She keeps her head tilted down, crimson eyes scanning the reflection for her prey. The woman sets the glass down on the dark grainy wood of the bartop with a solid thump.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>----------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thump. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She sat boredly, fingers drumming impatiently on the dark wooden table. It had been nearly a half hour of sitting there, waiting, looking out at her fellow officers as they worked on files and chatted around the coffee machine and compared vibrators and traded condoms.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"She'll be here any minute," Captain Morgan Collins said to try and soothe her annoyed officer, not looking up from her file. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Morgan stood up, revealing the light blue collared shirt that was unbuttoned and barely covering her nipples, leaving the rest of her cleavage exposed. Her tight black pencil skirt barely reached mid-tigh, and her tights were tugged down just slightly so it was clear she wasn't wearing panties. It was a pretty common uniform for the precinct, to be honest, and arguably one of the more modest ones.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>'Shit,' the albino officer had thought to herself, 'better than Kimmy just wearing the hat and belt.'</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Morgan opened up the door and stepped to the side.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Standing there was a tall, wide-hipped, large-breasted woman. She was in a tight pinstripe suit with skirt, brunette hair, black glasses. When she walked, her chest swayed side to side. "Hello, Captain Morgan," the woman greeted.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The captain nodded, motioning for the other woman to follow her in. "Mayor Belladonna, hello." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hey, Bella," came the unenthusiastic response from the cop in her chair. She'd positioned herself so her legs were draped over the arm of the chair, long platinum hair nearly touching the ground as her head lolled back in disinterest. "If I'd been told it was you we were waiting for, I'd have brought that coffee I owe you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Belladora Sirtuza didn't seem pleased with the flippant greeting of the cop, of course, and the look on her face made the lounging officer bite back a smile. The mayor put her hands on her wide, curvy hips. "Do you know why you've been called in today?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Because I called your secretary a dumbass?" the officer suggested, an eye raised. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Belladonna narrowed her eyes. "You did what?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Captain Morgan put the file she'd been working on in front of her officer. "You're here for Noir Salvador," she corrected. "Daughter of Vivian Salvador. I assume you're familiar?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crimson eyes narrowed in suspicion as she grabbed the file, flicking through it. Gangs weren't her department, but Vivian Salvador had her hand in just about everything you could get a profit from. "With the mother, yes. Didn't realize she had a daughter. I'm guessing she's a typical princess?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"From what we understand," Morgan agreed. "Resources say she's a bit of a brat." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Having a mafia boss for a mom would probably make anyone spoiled," the cop remarked casually. She dropped the file back on the table, open to the picture of the ravenette girl with red-and-yellow eyes. She was cute, but looked rather young. Might've been the fact she was wearing a lolita dress, might've been she had the same timeless genes her mother did. Either way, the cop wasn't particularly interested, and she looked up at her captain and the mayor. "What's she gotta do with me?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Belladonna gave an almost sheepish chuckle. "Well, let's just say my secretary doesn't have quite as much integrity as I'd hoped." When all she got was a confused expression, she gestured to the file. "Miss Noir there seduced her, to put it bluntly, and some sensitive information got divulged. It's gotten to the point where we need someone on the inside, or at least someone to keep her occupied." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Occupied?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"This isn't the first time she's done this," Morgan explained, nodding to the file as she finally dropped back into her chair. "But we need it to be the last time." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"So you want my advice on how to seduce someone?" The officer asked, finally shifting her body to sit normally and face her captain, glancing at the file again a little warily. "I'm not exactly known for that, but-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Sharpen your skills then," Morgan said, pushing the file back over to her. "Your assignment is to get close to her." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Undercover?" The officer asked, eyes narrowed now in clear annoyance. Her job did </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> include babysitting spoiled brats and probably getting shot in the head by Vivian fucking Salvador. No, no way! "Yeah, that's not exactly my thing." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Not exactly what we're asking," Belladonna broke in, clear exasperation in her voice. She slammed her hands on the table, leaning down to get in the young officer's face. Though the mayor's voice was laced with frustration, her deep brown eyes held a hint of worry, of desperation, of genuine pleading that gave the officer a moment of pause. "Listen," Belladonna said, "I wouldn't be personally requesting you if I wasn't absolutely certain it had to be you. So just this once, you're going to follow orders." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The officer frowned at the invasion of personal space, leaning as far back in her chair as she could manage to get away from the older woman. She had sympathy for the situation, sure, but desperation was an ugly look.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Miss Belladonna," Morgan said lightly, lazily swiping a palm over her exposed nipple. The sight of two powerful women with their breasts smushed together was probably pretty tantalizing for the captain, her officer supposed. "Trust me when I tell you, saying that will only make her more eager to disobey." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"No it won't," the cop grumbled, trying to lean away further.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Belladonna put her hands on her hips again, straightening up and looking down at the officer, deep brown looking into frigid crimson. "It has to be you," she said firmly. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Why?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The mayor looked to the captain, who sighed and crossed her arms under her chest. "Because I recommend you," Morgan explained. "You have a reputation for disobedience, and more importantly, you're the least likely out of everyone in this precinct to fall victim to her charms."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The young officer frowned in clear annoyance, grabbing the file again to flip through it. "And I don't have a say in this decision?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Nope."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Well… shit."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>----------</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, Eve Magara had walked into a bar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eve Magara had sat down, had ordered a drink, had let the music wash over her as the strobes danced in the mirror. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now Eve Magara sits on a cracked leather barstool, swirling her drink in her hand, ice melted from how long she's been sitting there. The bright green alcohol is scented like candied apples, and if she wasn't on the job, she'd be gulping down one after the other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hell, maybe she should anyways, just to settle her nerves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hesitates for just a few moments before drinking deeply, not stopping until the glass is empty. She turns it upside down and sets it on the bartop, biting her lower lip as she looks into the mirror behind the bottles of alcohol. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A dozen feet away she sees her, bent over the bar, talking to the bartender. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Noir Salvador. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, no sense in waiting any longer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eve Magara stands up and walks toward her target. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Unimpressed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She's bent over the bartop, the poofy skirt of her dress riding high up her ass, talking with the bartender. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm telling you," she whines in a voice that's just bordering sober, "my mom totally said that it's okay for me to drink! So if I were you, I'd get me a rum and coke before my mom hears about this." When the man behind the counter gives her a weary glance, Noir Salvador snaps her fingers in his face. "Now," she adds haughtily. </p><p> </p><p>Eve considers rolling her eyes. She's been hoping that Captain Morgan had been exaggerating her description of the girl's attitude, but the fact Eve can hear her halfway across the bar wasn't exactly promising. Showing annoyance, however, is something she can't do. Not because she's afraid of hurting feelings, but because it's the first rule of dealing with a brat - don't give them attention. </p><p> </p><p>So Eve doesn't acknowledge her. She walks with a sway in her hips, fluttering white dress shifting teasingly, threatening to expose an indecent amount of skin. Paired with pale skin, long white hair, and crimson eyes flashing in the lights of the strobe, she radiates the aura of someone who belongs in a land of ice and cold and cruelty, and someone who would subjugate that land to her will. </p><p> </p><p>That is her intention, and based on the way Noir Salvador's mismatched eyes light up, she is succeeding. </p><p> </p><p>As the mafia princess turns to face her fully, Eve allows herself just a second to get a full view of her target; long ravenette locks in pigtails, black-puffed dress trimmed with orange that ends not even mid-tigh, allowing her pert ass to be shown to the rest of the club if they care to look. Like her mother, Noir is timeless, and her age is a mere hypothesis. Reports ranged from 19 to 13, though Eve is leaning more towards the older end of the spectrum based on the curve of her ass and the swell of her plump breasts. </p><p> </p><p>The moment ends, and Eve slides her eyes naturally towards the bartender, who is finishing off the girl's drink. Based on what Eve has heard, she can assume Noir is younger than the drinking limit, though that's not surprising. </p><p> </p><p>The woman takes the unoccupied spot, her shoulder nearly brushing the awe-struck girl as she leans on the bartop. Eve looks up at the tired man and says plainly, "Sour Apple, if you aren't busy." </p><p> </p><p>The man sighs softly, but it sounds like one of relief. Maybe it's because this woman isn't drunkenly hollering in his face, like the gaggle of party girls and frat boys at the far end of the bar that Eve had spent a solid five minutes glaring at earlier in the night. Or maybe it's because someone is distracting him from Noir, who Eve knows has been bothering him for at least a half hour. </p><p> </p><p>Eve looks away from Noir, glancing across the club. Her eyes fall on a man standing against a far wall, half hidden in darkness, not dancing, not drinking. He's looking down at his phone, and Eve notes that his nonchalance doesn't seem feigned. Is he so practiced that he can pass off as oblivious, or is he genuinely not paying attention? </p><p> </p><p>"Hey." </p><p> </p><p>Barely visible on the catwalk above is a woman in similar clothing, highlighted by flashing azure lights. Eve can't make her out well between the thumping music and shifting bodies and flickering bubblegum dancing in the cop's vision, but she seems to be smoking, puffs blown upwards into the dark of the ceiling. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey?"</p><p> </p><p>No one has been near the princess for the entire hour Eve was studying her, apart from the bartender. Shouldn't the arrival of a stranger have them on their feet, making calls to get identities, taking pictures, coming over? With the reputation Noir had, were they used to this?</p><p> </p><p>"Hey!" </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do they not care? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Hey!" </p><p> </p><p>The cop looks over her shoulder at the young woman beside her. Her pretty lips are puffed into a pout, red and yellow eyes are lit up with interest. </p><p> </p><p>Eve turns fully to face the girl, and as expected, Noir's eyes dip down to blatantly oggle the woman's chest. In a rather childish, naive way, she twirls a lock of dark hair around her finger. And in a rather mature, teasing way, she slowly runs her tongue along her full lips. </p><p> </p><p>Eve's expression doesn't change, her crimson eyes dark with boredom as she props her chin on her hand, elbow against the bartop. The bartender returns to plop down Noir's drink, a few drops sloshing over the edge and running down the cool glass. Eve's own Sour Apple is sat down gently, barely a rock in the lime-colored liquid. </p><p> </p><p>Noir grabs the alcohol eagerly and gulps it down, seemingly unbothered by the strong taste. Is she used to this? How many nights does she spend here, or at other clubs in the city? </p><p> </p><p>"You look a little young to be drinking," Eve remarks, taking a sip of her barely-alcoholic beverage. </p><p> </p><p>"Maybe," Noir says with a flirty grin. "But you look like you should be sitting on my face." </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>How. . . How does anyone fall for this? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It's the most juvenile - well okay, maybe not the <em>most</em> juvenile, but close - pick-up line that anyone has ever thrown in Eve's unimpressed face. </p><p> </p><p>Based on the confident smirk, Noir clearly thinks her flirting is positively revolutionary. Or she's drunk. Or both. </p><p> </p><p>"Big mouth, little girl," Eve replies disinterestedly, looking forward towards the mirrored wall of the bar. She sees Noir's face, sees the red tinge on her cheeks and annoyance on the spoiled brat's face. "Just what I'd expect from a twelve year old, I suppose." </p><p> </p><p>Noir splutters, clearly caught off-guard by the epic failure of her flirting. "I-I, I'm not twelve!" Her voice cracks a half-octave higher than usual, and her pink cheeks are turning nearly as red as Eve's eyes. "I'm fifteen! That's practically an adult!" </p><p> </p><p>Eve glances over once again, expression unchanged. </p><p> </p><p>Noir is quick to recover - maybe the alcohol is boosting her confidence? - and she spreads her legs indecently, proudly, baring her young cunt for Eve to see. "Besides," the princess of the mafia purrs with a dangerous glint in her buzzed mismatched eyes, "don't you know who I am? You can't talk to me like that. I'm very important, you know." </p><p> </p><p>It is easy to see Noir is proud of her body, and it isn't hard to see why. Objectively speaking, she is beautiful, and it's obvious to see why so many had fallen for her charms. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Well, only one thing to do with a spoiled brat. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve lets her eyes run boredly down Noir's body. She pulls her phone out from between her cleavage and turns back to the bar, resting her elbows on it as she opens her texts. "Ah, to be young and think the world revolves around you, or that you're the hottest thing since sliced bread. It's not a stage I went through, of course, but my more immature friends did. You'll grow out of it."</p><p> </p><p>She sees Noir deflate in the corner of her eye, and for just a second, Eve feels a touch of pity. Did she go too far? Is the princess' pride genuinely wounded? </p><p> </p><p>Then Noir grabs her drink and knocks it back. She hikes up one leg to rest her foot on the bartop, holds the cup to her bare cunt, and pisses. </p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't say a word, forces her expression not to change, and hits send on a text. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>To Cap: What the fuck did you sign me up for?</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading, everyone! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!</p><p>Have a request? A question? Just wanna chat? Find me on Discord at PoisonousWells#0894</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Playing Her Cards</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"You keep acting like that," Noir warns, lifting the warm cup in her hand and pointing it towards the bored-looking woman beside her, "and pretty soon, I'll have you acting how </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>want." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is that so," Eve replies plainly, finally putting her phone down. For the first time tonight, she turns her body to face Noir fully, and allows the girl to see her dress in detail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is one long strip of white fabric that runs down the center of her body, covering her crotch. Just above the navel, the thin cotton separates into two distinct pieces. Each half is secured by a singular strip of black that wraps around her, sitting snuggly under her cleavage. The white strips tenderly cup her breasts, giving them a bit of perk and exposing lots of cleavage, before tying into a knot behind her neck. Two additional strips of fabric are attached by golden twine that hangs low on her hips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The scant coverings mixed with her cold red eyes give Eve the aura of ancient power, of a time of loincloths and animalistic instincts, a time where gods and goddesses ruled the undeveloped land. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In short, she is exactly the type of woman Noir wants to win, and exactly the type of woman who will never let herself be a prize.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Eve expected, her target is nearly drooling, though that could be as much from the alcohol as anything else. Mismatched eyes slide down pale cleavage to the flimsy fabric between her legs. Eve adjusts her position on the stool, resting one foot on the small bar that stretches across the legs of the stool and the other on the floor, letting the fluttering strip hang down freely in the air versus sitting on her thighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She takes her glass, an eye raised at the mafia princess. "I'm not one to entertain children."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noir frowns, but it quickly turns to a cocky grin as her eyes stray up the woman's smooth thighs. "Bet you've got a nice cunt for a bitch," she says with a lustful grin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eve picks her phone up again, slyly pressing a few commands in. Her ringtone, a tumultuous cello, is barely audible over the electronic throb of the club. Without another word, as casual as anything, Eve turns away from Noir and puts the phone to her ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey!" Noir snaps in annoyance, clearly not appreciating being ignored. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eve doesn't respond, resting her elbow on the bartop as she puts her back to the girl. "Hello," she says to the phone, her tone just a touch more cheerful than when she'd been talking to Noir. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks into the crowd, letting her eyes flicker across the sea of bodies. No one is paying attention to the two of them, as far as she can tell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not much," Eve says casually. She glances in the mirror behind the bottles of liquor, and Noir is red-faced and glaring. She looks away again, biting her lower lip and, just like Noir had earlier, twirls a strand of snowy hair around her finger. "Just babysitting some kid. What's up?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hears Noir scoff, hears the frustration in the young woman's tone, and then feels something warm splashing onto her back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pay ten bucks, guess what it is, win a prize if you're close! </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eve has spent many a night babysitting the drunk tank, so it's not the first time she's been hit with piss. As the acidic scent fills her senses, she's similarly filled with the desire to drop-kick this kid off a balcony. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Aw," Noir coos. Eve glances at her in the mirror, and the young woman is crawling onto the bartop, fingers sloppily pulling at the knotted ball of fabric behind her neck that was holding her dress up. "Looks like you've made a real fucking mess of yourself," she giggles. "Your dress is all ruined!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eve arches her back a bit, but she doesn't let her voice change in any way. "Oh yeah? It's a little hard to hear you, actually. Let me go to the bathroom." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without a word or a glance to Noir, the woman slides off the stool. She feels Noir tugging at the part of the dress that ties behind her neck, and with a particularly hard tug, undoes the knot. Another rough pull and the fabric falls, exposing her cleavage for the bar to see. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eve doesn't respond in any way. She keeps her head high and keeps walking, a slight sway in her hips as she heads towards the relative silence of the bathroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crowd is pressed together, but a furious glare of her cold crimson eyes, and people shift out of her way. She storms forward, having to throw her shoulder in a few times to get by, and finally ducks into the bathroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's empty, to her relief. Eve puts the phone back in her cleavage and sighs in annoyance, closing her eyes for a minute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stock check: </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><ul>
<li><em><span>You smell like piss</span></em></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>You're covered in piss</span></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>Noir is a little terror with no boundaries</span></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>Noir pissed into a cup and threw her literal urine on you</span></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>Noir is incredibly drunk and her handlers don't seem to care</span></li>
</ul><ul>
<li>
<span>Noir </span><span>pissed</span><span> into a cup what the fuck who the fuck does that</span>
</li>
</ul><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eve runs a hand through her hair and sighs deeply, finally opening her eyes again to look into the mirror. Her cheeks are starting to get pink, and she rubs them in annoyance, trying to force the heat away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had enough Intel for now, right? She'd planted a seed. Noir would remember her as someone she hadn't seduced, and the next time she came to this bar, she'd have Noir on her ass - lusting for her ass - once again. That's all she needs to do tonight. She ties the dress behind her neck once again, just focusing on one thing at a time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get out of here. Get home. Fill out a report. Take a shower. Beat up the Cap. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a huff of frustration, Eve finally turns away from the mirror, only for the bathroom door to swing open. Noir stands there, beaming brightly, mismatched eyes alight with joy and lust at finally trapping the object of her desire in a private room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I didn't say you could put your dress back on," Noir says, a sickly sweet smile on her drunk face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don't get paid enough for this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed the story! Kudos, comments, suggestions, requests, everything is appreciated! </p><p>See you next chapter!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone! Welcome to a new story, because I keep getting new ideas! Me and PaleEmpress have had a lot of fun with this, and we hope you like it! </p><p>Comments, Kudos, suggestions, everything is appreciated! Wanna reach out? Hit me up at PoisonousWells#0894 on Discord! </p><p>See you next time!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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